Needle Burn

His porcelain skin rises and falls with her head indenting softly in the base of his stomach. Underneath his transparent flesh, you can see traintracks of blue and red viens, exploding into his heart, but even deeper, through the red and blue there lyes a hidden box.

His eyes glaze over, strap round arm, viens rising up to knock on old scars, imune to needle pricks, as like a fire, it spreads rapidly to consume him, almost burning his organs to ash.

As she still lies there slumbering, almost dead, no movement, content with the smell of his bed, as it grasps her and pulls he down into a deep sleep, every breath which intoxicates her lungs, she sighs relief, she feels safe. If only his eyes could gaze upon her face, it would freeze the fire which burns inside him. His breathing would slow, his heart pulsate in his throat, but hes infactuated with the mirror. Staring straight.